


almost about to drown in the drink

by bright_ly



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Also kind of, Heart-to-Heart, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Canon, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29733804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bright_ly/pseuds/bright_ly
Summary: Les Jacobs and Spot Conlon have an unlikely conversation on a rooftop.(tw: suicide is mentioned)
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Spot Conlon & Les Jacobs, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	almost about to drown in the drink

**Author's Note:**

> for week 1 of @newsies-square-discord's writing challenge!  
> word prompts: birthday, escape, family
> 
> tw: suicide is mentioned, in case you didn't read the summary
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoy :)

The world is spinning.

Of course it is. It’s a planet: spinning is what it does. 

But, if you zoom in a little, to a much-too-extravagant ballroom in New York City, and you enter the deep, complicated passageways of Les Jacobs’ brain, you can see that the world is, in fact, spinning around him. 

To his left, Katherine Pulitzer - the woman of the hour - is twirling away with his sister. They are whispering to each other. If he stands on the tips of his toes and squints, he can see the laughing face of his brother and the silhouette of Jack’s canvas, which he’d insisted on bringing, for some reason Les never quite understood.

Both of them had promised to stay with him for the entire party. Well, a couple of drinks and the whole ‘family’ thing is thrown out of the window.

Les Jacobs is annoyed, to say the least. Annoyed, because the same thing happens every time someone - usually Katherine - throws a party: he is forced to come, and then ignored the entire night, because he’s seven years too young. Annoyed, too, because someone keeps switching his drinks around until he doesn’t even know what he’s drinking, and that makes him disorientated - hence the spinning - which he hates. Drowning. He’s drowning in this drink, and Katherine Pulitzer is much too drunk to fish him out. He needs to escape.

He scans the room (it’s times like these that his ability to climb on tables with relative ease became significantly more useful), finally spotting an opening just behind a couple who appear to have permanently compressed their faces together. The fire escape.

Focused on his newfound destination, Les pushes through the crowd, not bothering to offer any apologies. It’s not like they’re going to remember any of this tomorrow. If Sarah was sober, she would be outraged. 

The couple does prove an irritating obstacle: he’s forced to walk between them, which almost results in disaster, but he’s able to dodge out of the way before they lean in for another kiss, thank God.

Once outside, Les climbs the rusting stairs two at a time, desperate to breathe again. After what feels like a lifetime but in reality is probably only a couple of minutes, he reaches the top of the staircase, and, pulling himself up, is grateful for the arm strength selling papers requires.

Breathe.

He glances across the roof as he inhales, startling as he notices a hunched figure, sitting with their legs dangling over the edge. His eyes widen as he realises this person, whoever they are, appear to be considering jumping off. 

Les approaches slowly, attempting to make this random guy aware of his presence without startling them. It’s only as he draws nearer that he notices _who_ this mystery man actually is.

And that is Spot Conlon.  
Fucking hell. He only came here to breathe.

He clears his throat softly, and Spot glances over his shoulder, turning around completely when he notices Les.

“You’s Mouth’s lit’le brother, ain’t ya?” Les would laugh at the Brooklyn accent if he wasn’t terrified for his life.

“That’s me. Les Jacobs. You’re Spot Conlon.” 

Spot chuckles. The _audacity._ “Smar’ kid. Good move fro’ Kelly, all’em years ago.”

“Maybe. The more pressing matter, though, is why you’re up here thinking about killing yourself.”

He wishes he regretted the words the moment they passed his lips, but: he doesn’t. Watching the man in front of him splutter and deny what he was so obviously thinking, Les genuinely does want to know why Spot Conlon, _the Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn,_ would ever consider suicide. He’s living the perfect life. He has everything a New York newsie can only dream of. What business does he have, throwing himself off rooftops?

Eventually, Spot regains control of his brain, and sighs. “Look, kid, d’ya ever feel like you’s the only one’n the entire goddamn worl’?”

“Yeah?” He considers. “Like, everyone is so caught up in themselves and each other that they forget you’re there too.” 

“‘Actly. Ya know, a’this fuckin’ _birthday party_ fa some rich gal I barely eve’ know, a guy can’t help bu’ feel’a little los’.” 

Les can’t recall when, but Spot has moved away from the edge, which he is thankful for. Being a witness of the most important newsie in Brooklyn (and possibly all of New York) committing suicide would _not_ look good on his record. Not to mention the trauma he’d gain from the experience.

“Why’re you here, then?” Les sits down on the roof - which, in the long-run, is probably a bad idea - but he wants to be on the same level as Spot here.

“Race want’d me’ta come. I ain’t about’a deny ‘im, bu’ all ‘is boys’re ‘ere. ‘Course he’s gonna hang wit’em stead’a me.” 

“That’s toxic.”

“Wha’, goin’ places an’ bein’ ignored?” Spot scoffs. “‘Cause I’s pretty sure that's where you’s at, too, kid.”

“That’s different. I’m here for Sarah and Dave.” Les, quite honestly, doesn’t know why he's arguing with Spot. Anyone can see that they’re in the same situation.

“An’ I’s here fa Racer.”

They remain in silence for a moment or two, simply looking at each other across the roof of this mansion, before Spot speaks again.

“I’s told you why I’s up ’ere. Your turn.”

Les shifts, moving slightly closer to Spot. “I’m seven years too young. Like, Dave, Sarah, Jack, Kathy: they’re all old enough to be married, and drink, and own a house, while I can’t even go out for the night if I have school the next day.”

Going back to school had been an event, that’s for sure. It had been around a year after the strike, when David and Sarah had both found proper factory work, and when their father had managed to find a new job, and they could survive with Les selling papes only in the evenings and on weekends. It made sense that he would go back to school. That was the plan, after all, to sell papers until the twins turn 18, and then: school. 

Problem was, Les hadn’t wanted to go back. He hates the obnoxious rich boys picking fun at him; he hates the cruel punishments offered for even the slightest misconduct. He hates sitting still all day long, learning useless grammar rules Sarah could’ve taught him, repeating numbers in sequences he couldn’t care less about.

He loves the fresh air selling papes offers, and the freedom to do whatever he wants as long as he brings home dinner, and, though he doesn’t sell with the same crowd as four years ago, he’s close with the other newsies. He loves exchanging jokes with them, and playing cards between editions on the weekends, and inviting some of them round for dinner occasionally.

Still, Les is lucky to be able to go to school: this he knows. He’s seen thousands of kids who dream of going to school. Getting an education. Climbing up in the world. 

For a long time, that had been what kept him going. Even as a kid, watching David battle through unjust educational systems and Sarah beg for a place in them, he believed that if he remained focused on one, simple goal - climbing up the ladder - he could eventually reach the top.

That dream, that hope that kept him going on days when he only ate half a slice of bread, is long gone, now, sitting on this rooftop with Spot Conlon. He’d seen ten thousand fists in the air, shouting for the right to live, but he’d also seen Sarah bandaging her bleeding fingers, and Dave collapsing into bed after yet another shift from dawn to dusk. He’d seen his father’s leg - mangled by the horrors of being poor - and his mother’s worried eyes as she calculates the family budget every month.

Now, he lives by a new motto: the rich stay rich, and the poor stay poor. Not very inspirational, but factual nonetheless.

Spot is nodding at him. It takes Les a moment to remember why.

“It’s like- I shouldn’t even be here, you know? The guys I hang with: none of them are here. There is no reason for me to be at my sister’s rich girlfriend’s birthday party.”

“I feel ya, kid. I’s only ‘ere fa m’boy Racer. ’Uppose that’s wha’ we get fa lovin’, ain’t it, kid?” Spot is climbing to his feet. Les hurries to do the same. Somehow, Spot Conlon standing over him doesn’t sound too appealing, no matter the heartfelt conversation they seem to have ended up having.

“I suppose.”

“Let’s ge’ us back’a da party, huh, li’tle Mouth?”

Les nods, and the two descend the stairwell in silence. He’s glad to note that the too-comfortable couple has relocated, and their path back into the fray is clear of all obstacles.

He spots his sister in the crowd and makes his way over to her. Maybe the universe has decided to be kind today, and she’ll have sobered a little from the last time he saw her.

The universe hasn’t decided to be kind, apparently, as the moment he reaches her she grabs his cheeks and squeezes them. Katherine finds this hysterically funny, and he hastens to remove himself from their presence. The night goes on.

He never speaks to Spot Conlon alone again, but the two nod at each another on the street, and when Manhattan has a message for Brooklyn, he often offers to deliver it. Their conversation on the rooftop at Katherine Pulitzer’s birthday party stays with them both, and they can never quite forget one another.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: i had no clue how to write spot's accent so i just put apostrophes everywhere. hope it wasn't too annoying
> 
> 1600 words according to google docs
> 
> find me on tumblr @chaoticallybright :)


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